


The Point, Gentlemen, is that They Lived

by no_big_deal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Ben Solo, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Shot, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Happy Ending, Intercrural Sex, Loss of Virginity, No Babies, No Pregnancy, Non-consensual Exhibitionism, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Virgin Rey (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28701393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_big_deal/pseuds/no_big_deal
Summary: One kiss, months ago. Now he’s being told to fuck her at the point of a blaster, with a bomb strapped to her chest.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 53
Kudos: 199
Collections: Kinkuary Prompt Challenge





	The Point, Gentlemen, is that They Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kinkuary Prompt Challenge. We'll call this a kink I haven't written before. And so that can be either Fuck or Die or "non-consensual exhibitionism" so please please mind those tags. If you feel I missed a needed tag, reach out, I'm happy to add tags to the list. 
> 
> We'll also call this take something considered hard/rough and make it as soft as you can. Which, me being me, was going to happen anyway. 
> 
> Love all you Reylos! For purposes of this fic, imagine Rey in her TLJ Throne Room battle outfit. 
> 
> Canon References:  
> [Grummgar](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Grummgar)  
> [Ysalamiri](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ysalamiri)

...the truth about their romance had been reduced to a simple fairy tale.

And while Cinderella and her prince did live happily ever after, the point, gentlemen, is that they lived.

_-Ever After_

He admires the dark, royal blue gleam of his lightsaber as he and Rey stride into the dark, underground lounge of the dirty cantina. It rumbles low and menacing, and he shifts the hilt in his palm, careful to avoid the short crossguard beams sticking out at right angles. It's a wonderful weapon. He’s grateful. But one of his favorite things about it is that it looks so good next to Rey’s goldenrod saberstaff as they traverse the galaxy, restoring order, and making things right.

After Exegol, they’d quickly dispatched both the First _and_ Final Order loyalists unwilling to submit to the newly democratically elected government and they’d moved on to addressing the galaxy’s many other problems, like independent warlords or gangsters, and social ills from slavery to racketeering.

Today they’re on Takodana, tracking down some rogue bounty hunters accused of murdering unarmed villagers. Being back here, where he first met Rey, is distracting. He’s awash in guilt for how he treated her back then and nervously wonders what hints and shadows she can sense. She hasn’t said anything. Her end of the bond, and the sliver of her mind that seeps through, is serene. 

Their bond is never fully open. 

At least he is feeling confident in their mission intel; the group of mercenaries holed up in this underground tavern shouldn’t be any trouble for him and Rey. Finn and Poe should be along in an hour or so to help with the cleanup. All in a day’s work. 

Which is why it’s such a shock when four cages, each containing ysalamiri, drop from the high ceiling and the floor shifts sharply underneath their feet and the Force is _gone._

Ben lets loose a roar; a nearly unbearable shock of pain lances through him as his bond with Rey blinks out. He can’t feel her mind; his heart sinks and he panics. He turns to see if she is all right but, tactically, that is the incorrect decision. A true Jedi might have been calmer, but he was Ben Solo—Jedi in name only—and in moments like these, he still led with his emotions. Four humanoids, all armored and incredibly strong, tackle him to the ground; he fights, but they each have backup. Lots of backup. 

Ben manages to dispatch a few assailants with his lightsaber before it is unceremoniously stomped from his hand. Furious, he shoves and throws punches, knowing a dozen blasters point at him, but it doesn’t matter. Not when he can’t see Rey.

A deep, ominous chuckle draws his attention. Across the room, Rey is on the floor, held down by six mercenaries and still struggling, even as they attach a circular disk to her tunic and then push her back towards Ben.

He freezes, recognition leading to despair. They’ve attached a thermal bomb to her shirt. It will vaporize everything within a meter or three if detonated. Instinctively, he goes to remove the deadly thing from Rey’s chest, guilt and love and fear overwhelming him. He’d never had the courage to tell her how he truly felt; he wouldn’t let her die if he could help it. 

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” The speaker has a menacing, booming voice—a Dowutin, a mercenary, nine feet tall and gruesome, horns curling down from his chin. He’s sitting on an oversized seat made of stone, and speaking Basic. A tall, sleek human woman dressed in black has her legs curled around one meaty arm, as wide around as she is. Her eyes and lips are pinched and full of malice. 

The Dowutin tosses a small box with an ominous red button to the woman. “She’ll detonate it, Jedi. On my command. Won’t you Bazine?”

Bazine huffs out a laugh, lip curling in distaste as she takes in Ben and Rey standing helpless in the center of the room, surrounded by men holding blasters, and without their sabers or Force abilities. 

“With pleasure, Grummgar darling,” she replies, her voice low and cruel. Turning back to face the monstrous bounty hunter, she runs her finger along his deeply wrinkled cheek and he laughs.

Ben takes the opportunity to look at Rey. Her face is pale but her mouth is a firm line, her eyes defiant and angry. Standing this close, it’s difficult to not be distracted by her beauty and he is struck with the thought that if they die here, so many people will mourn her. Everyone loves Rey. She is kind and friendly and funny. Fewer people would mourn him, he supposes, but that is nobody’s fault but his own. 

Rey angles her body towards him and whispers. “We need to stall. Poe and Finn will find us if we give them time.” Ben nods in agreement. 

“What do you want, Grummgar?” Ben’s voice carries across the dim room. Negotiations were good. Talking took time; Leia Organa’s son knew talking could take _lots_ of time. 

Again, the ominous chuckle. “What do I want? We’ve been waiting patiently down here for _days_ for you Jedi. Not much to do down here, is there Bazine?”

Her sleek head, covered in a tight shimmery black cap, shakes _no,_ her lower lip sticks out in a petty pout and her voice holds the hint of baby talk. “So _boring._ It was _their_ fault. Make them entertain us now, Grummgar.” 

Grummgar slaps his massive knee with his serving platter-sized hand, howling with laughter. “Yes, yes,” he sneers. Ben feels Rey step closer; he grasps her elbow. “The Jedi will entertain us. And if you like them Bazine—if they amuse you—” his lips curl up into an unsavory grin. “Maybe we will keep them; let them live, hmm?”

Bazine nods and giggles, squirming on Grummgar’s arm. Grummgar points to Ben. “You. Naked. Take her.” He points at Rey. 

He almost asks _take her where_ before chilling realization washes over him and all the blood drains from his head. His hands and feet are suddenly cold as ice. This can’t be happening.

Since Exegol he hadn’t dared—sure, she had kissed him but he’d been dying—he figured she’d meant it as a kiss goodbye since it would never have to be repeated: Rey’s unfailing kindness extended to a wretched, unworthy creature at the very end. He would never—this was _Rey_ —he would _never._

When he unexpectedly lived, he hadn’t tried to repeat the intimate moment, not then, not in the months that followed. His own self-loathing mixed with the fear of rejection was all too potent a deterrent. One kiss, months ago. Now he’s being told to fuck her at the point of a blaster, with a bomb strapped to her chest. 

He looks down at Rey and it’s as if the bond is still in place, she’s already there, anticipating him. She looks as stunned as he feels but she whispers, “Time, we need time.”

Ben purses his lips before turning back to Grummgar. “That’s the best you can come up with—” but he stops when Bazine’s fingers wiggle over the detonator. 

Grummgar sneers. “Wrong answer, Jedi.” 

Ben looks down at Rey who nods. “We’ll do it, _chuba sleemo,”_ she yells defiantly. 

“And once we do, you’ll let her go,” Ben adds. He’s thrown the entire strength of his will into the statement but Grummgar chuckles, reveling in Ben's failure.

“No Jedi mind tricks while my little lizards are in the room, eh?” He gestures to the sickly glowing creatures and Ben feels weak and ineffectual as a child. “I’ll do what I want, Jedi. Now move!”

There’s a low stone table just behind Rey and Ben leads her there. He sits on the edge and brings her in close, sheltering her between his arms and his legs. She is trembling, but still, blessedly, looking into his eyes. So much of his strength, he realizes, comes from her. He’d be nothing without her and he must find a way to get her out of this situation. 

“I’m sorry—” he chokes out.

She swallows and nods imperceptibly. “It’s alright. But, Ben. Ben, you’ll have to—because I’ve never—and I don’t know how—” 

Ben’s head _reels._ “It’ll be okay,” he blurts out, stupidly. 

She shakes her head, her hands finding their way to Ben’s chest, rubbing slowly out to his shoulders. She looks green. “They’re going to kill us, of course.” 

He cannot accept that. “Like you said. We have to give Poe and Finn time—” Ben huffs out a breath as Rey’s fingertips rub the side of his neck before returning to his pectorals. “We can make this take a long time. We’ll stay alive until they get here.”

Rey’s hands are unsteady as they continue their exploration of his torso and his confidence is in shambles seeing Rey look so frightened. 

“Hurry up over there,” Grummgar bellows and Ben’s face twists into a grimace as he shoots his captor a nasty look.

He puts his hands on Rey’s waist, pulling her closer, flush to his body. “Meditate,” he whispers into her hair. “Focus on our escape.” He puts certainty into his voice that he does not feel, not when every secret fantasy he’s ever had about Rey, naked in his bed and moaning into his mouth and touching him everywhere is choosing this moment to run riot through his brain. None of his fantasies involve an audience, or blasters, or the threat of death. No, with Rey, it was always so soft. So quiet. Just the two of them. Always only the two of them. Finally finding peace. All the time in the world.

Ben swears he’ll rip Grummgar and Bazine into pieces with his bare hands if he gets the chance.

Rey interrupts his chaotic, violent thoughts. “Are you ready?” she asks, voice shaky and he nods. “All right,” she says, and kisses him. 

And her plush lips are everything Ben ever dreamed and more: so generous, so unassuming, even a little eager. How easy it would be to forget everything in the galaxy if Rey never stopped kissing him. His hands tangle in the fabric of her tunic, his lips wheedling hers open for his tongue, which she takes with a gasp. Ben is glad she realizes that if she acts her part with enthusiasm it will entertain the audience and perhaps prolong their lives. 

After long minutes of kissing, Ben pulls back and unlatches the belt around his waist and shrugs his tunic off his shoulders, leaving him in his black undershirt. He gets a slow nod from Rey before he repeats the process with her clothing, her leather belt slipping to the floor and her dusty grey wrappings sliding off her biceps; he kisses the scar on her upper arm. His face is level with the bomb as it hangs on the front of Rey’s black tunic and his hands grasp her, high on her ribs, one on either side of where the bomb hangs. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Grummgar scolds, “no removing the device.” Ben has never more wished he could Force choke someone than right at this moment. 

His hands skim down Rey’s arms and begin the process of unwinding her armguards, slowly sliding the material away from her wrists, massaging the soft flesh of her forearms with his thumbs as he advances towards her elbows. Grummgar grunts unhappily but Bazine coos and he keeps going until Rey’s arms are bare and his hands are shaking. 

Rey reaches for his shirt and her hazel eyes are blinking fast, but her look is steady and he gives her a little nod. She pulls the shirt over his head and arms, dropping it by his tunic, swallowing thickly as her gaze returns to his body. 

He rubs his sweaty hands on his pants, feeling self conscious and exposed. Last time she saw him like this was almost two years ago, during one of their first Force bonds. Even shirtless, he felt protected back then, covered in scars, clothed in arrogance. Now, he had none of that. Rey’s Force healing had eliminated all the scars and imperfections; his skin is smooth as a baby’s and his stomach turns as he hears Bazine growl in approval. Rey’s fingers clamp down on his arms. His eyes slam shut and he pretends Rey feels possessive of him, of his skin. 

When Rey’s hands move to Ben’s chest to touch, he circles her with his arms again, letting his fingers linger on her back. He's perversely happy Grummgar insists Rey’s tunic stay on. Ben didn’t want to see her breasts under these circumstances. He didn’t want Grummgar or his goons to see any part of Rey, ever.

But they are running out of time. 

Shifting his weight from one hip to the other, he realizes in anguish that he’s more than half hard, Rey’s hands on his skin and persistent, steady kisses having the predictable effect. What’s Rey going to think when she sees he’s aroused? She’ll think he’s sick, some sort of perverted sadist, and he nearly sobs with disgust. But there’s nothing for it, not when Grummgar has Bazine rattle the detonator menacingly, directing them to speed up.

He stands and slides his pants and briefs down to his knees, toeing off his boots and letting the entire pile of clothes fall to the side. His cock is bobbing against his belly, leaving a dab of wetness on his dark trail of hair. 

Blood pounds deafeningly in Ben’s ears; he can’t hear if his nakedness earns a comment from their audience, but Rey’s eyes flick down to his crotch for a beat, her face schooled and inscrutable. She’s the consummate Jedi and he’s so grateful she’s disguising her distaste of all this for his sake. 

Rey's tunic, Ben notes with relief, goes to mid-thigh and is long enough to protect her… intimate areas from prying eyes. He feels like a dog even thinking about those parts of her in that way and swallows down the feelings.

She kicks off her boots slowly, one at a time, holding Ben’s forearms for balance before her hands go under her tunic, to the clasp of her dark grey pants. Keeping her eyes on him, she removes them and sets them to the side; her long, lean legs are distracting flashes of white in the dim light. Her tunic sags a little in the front due to the weight of the thermal bomb, but she’s otherwise modestly covered.

Ben can’t resist kissing her again for a few moments, not wanting to be reckless and push their luck, but desperate to let Rey know that he loves her, truly, deeply, _wholesomely._ That he wouldn’t have asked for this, not in a million years.

Rey’s arms are around his neck and his fingers find their way to the waistband of her underwear. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, as she kisses his cheek, but she nods once, absolving him and she is too good, he will never deserve— 

His mind goes blank as the backs of his fingers separate Rey’s underwear from the smooth skin of her lower belly; he runs his hands down the high sweep of her ass. She gasps into his ear, kissing it. Everything about her is so lovely it hurts. 

“Please, forgive me,” he begs, as the underwear falls to the floor; he trails his fingers against the front of her thigh before dipping back to press a fingertip into her cunt. 

Rey whimpers into his neck as he drags his finger out and up. She’s wet, which surprises him. Not as wet as he could make her, _he knows,_ but of course she wouldn’t be sopping wet under these circumstances: with an audience, with him. But she is wet nonetheless, even if just pretending to be excited by his kisses and touches. The absence of the Force bond in this moment is torture, twisting his heart in knots. 

“I need to, I need to,” he stammers, feeling his cheeks heat, begging her to understand. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know, Ben.” She offers him a little smile and it’s a view so beautiful, it’s so much more than he’s entitled to see before he dies. 

He falls to his knees. 

Nudging his nose underneath the hem of her charcoal colored top, he licks tentatively at her folds. Rey shudders and her hands clasp his shoulders, her thighs twitching apart ever so slightly, making room for him.

Angling his face just so, he kisses her cunt like he kissed her lips, softly, wetly, allowing her shirt to rest on his face. She whimpers as he does his best to coax sufficient moisture from her; he realizes he’s pumping his cock in his fist in time with the thrusts of his tongue.

She tastes _delicious._

How is it possible her flavor—this sweet, secret flavor—is on his lips, in his mouth? She’s dripping now, her little whines and trembles barely audible, but he’s induced her body to react naturally, at least. Her pussy glistens with his spit and her own hot slick. 

Her thighs quiver as his tongue circles her clit. She squirms and moans as he slips a finger inside her and—he remembers she said _she’d never._

Finding the barrier of her body, barely a finger’s length inside her, is at once heartbreaking and yet providential. It makes his choices clearer, and easier. There’s no way he will _take_ her, not with an audience, not on a stone table, not when it will cause her unavoidable pain. Grummgar can kill him first.

Gently exploring her hole with his finger, he gives her clit a small suck and is surprised when he feels the walls of her channel pulse and shudder. Rey gives a tiny sob, and he can’t believe he coaxed even a little orgasm from her under these conditions. He must be mistaken—but if not—well, good. He was able to give her some small pleasure then. Thank the Maker for her healthy, responsive little body.

He hears murmurs from the crowd of onlookers, lewd comments and boots shuffling against the ground. The mercenaries make little grunts of approval; he won’t be happy until they’re all dead. 

Pulling back he stands. Rey buries her face in his chest and he slots his fingers through her hair, holding her close. 

“Ben, I trust you,” she whispers, and he kisses the top of her head.

“Keep your face by your arms,” he instructs. Stepping away from the table he places a hand on the back of her neck and gently pushes her down. “Good girl,” he manages, voice rough and dry as she rests her forehead in the cradle created by her crossed arms. Now she can't see who’s watching, and they can’t see her. 

He’d like nothing more than to keep drawing strength from her eyes and her smiles, but there’s no way he can pretend to fuck her and still keep his face from showing his love, his pleasure, or his heartbreak. This way, she can’t see him. This way, he can spare her the indignities of his feelings. 

Standing behind her, Ben does his best to stall by making it interesting for Grummgar and Bazine, stroking Rey’s ass until she’s audibly groaning, spitting twice in his hand, and roughly jerking his dick. Lining up behind Rey he thanks the Makers for giving Rey such a generous and peachy behind; it will make this deception easier. With a nudge, he gently guides one of her thighs in closer to the other and slots his dick in between her legs, and thrusts.

The length of his dick drags against her soft and dripping labia and Rey whines into her forearms. His hands press the meat of her thighs together, creating a channel, and the length of her tunic hides his deception from the audience.

He thrusts against her hard, for show, and her reactions are almost so believable, he slows down so he doesn’t come merely from hearing her moans. She squirms and raises herself up on her toes. She whispers for his ears only, begging. _Ben please,_ like she wants him, _please more,_ as if she’s actually desperate for his cock.

A few times he is forced to truncate his thrusts when the tip of his cockhead slides through her pussy at just the right angle and slips through her lips towards her core. He moans then, pulling out slowly and starting over. 

But even he can’t keep this up forever and the sweet friction has built for an impossibly long time. A handful of perfect strokes through her thighs and he’s _coming,_ coming hard. He pulls back with a shout, leaving a drip of cum on Rey’s ass before his shaft springs back against his stomach, leaving a milky white trail from his sternum to his belly button. 

He’s heaving, gasping for breath, and _fuck_ he’s still half blind without the Force because he’s caught unawares by a boot in his lower back, knocking him to his knees. Rey is pushed down beside him and their assailants scuttle a good distance away, because now that bomb around her neck means death for anyone within three meters, and they are out of time. 

Grummgar is chortling as Bazine makes a show of whispering in his ear, her eyes on Rey and Ben. She giggles and sets the detonator down next to Grummgar’s massive paw.

“She says that was a good show. She says she wants to fuck you now,” Grummgar sneers and Rey shudders, her arm vibrating against his elbow. 

Ben spits in their direction. “Go to hell.”

Grummgar just laughs. “Not talking to you. She wants to fuck _her.”_ Bazine wiggles lewdly on Grummgar’s arm and Rey growls. 

“You said you’d let her go,” Ben shouts. 

Grummgar shakes his head. “Tough luck, Jedi.” Ben grits his teeth as the gangster raises his massive hand over the detonator. 

On the upswing, there’s an explosion of glass in all corners of the room. The ysalamiri fall dead, the familiar whine of Poe and Finn’s blaster fire all around. Like a tsunami, the Force comes rushing back and Ben’s arm moves with a sweep. The sound of ripping fabric is muffled by shouts, and Grummgar slams the detonator just as the bomb lands in his lap.

Grummgar and Bazine vanish in a noisy blast, a foul smelling puff of red mist and smoke. Ben grunts in satisfaction before Rey yanks him down behind the stone table, taking cover from the blaster fire—too much to manage, even with the Force. One of Grummgar’s mercenaries rounds on them and Ben slams him into the ground. The man’s skull flattens against the floor and his blaster slides to Rey. She points it at Ben’s face. He blinks as she shoots a gangster standing directly behind him, before turning to guard Ben’s back while he grabs the dead man’s blaster for himself. 

The Force is a beautiful thing. He is unstoppable, stepping into the firefight, blaster in hand, knowing each shot is true, knowing he is untouchable. Another dead man, and a second blaster flies to his empty hand. Arms outstretched, he calmly walks to the center of the room, turning slowly, shooting rapidly yet methodically, working his way towards a box sitting on a low table, where he senses the beating hearts of two kyber crystals, safely encased within their sabers. But before he can take up his lightsaber, there is business to attend to: No one who stood by, watching Rey suffer is making it out of this room alive. They are all going to die. 

He shoots with his eyes closed for a few seconds, men falling dead all around him as he focuses on channeling the dark side of the Force through his actions, controlling it as he and Rey have trained themselves to do, not allowing it to consume him. A twitch of his head and two men are yanked into the air where their bodies crunch against the ceiling. Ben purses his lips and another man drops his blaster to grab at his throat, gasping for air before Ben nods, snapping the man’s neck.

In short order, the firefight slows; Finn and Poe’s squad has dispatched the few remaining gangsters and, when Ben senses they are gone, he kneels down to inspect the lightsabers. His doesn’t look good. The side casing has been damaged in the thermal blast and the ignition isn’t catching. One dark blue bolt sizzles out of the remaining functional cross guard before fizzling out completely. 

Rey’s saberstaff looks to be in better condition, just superficial damage to its beautiful casing of metal and wood. He ignites the goldenrod beam and it dances out one end of the hilt, but barely manages to ignite out the other. Some wiring needs fixed, that’s all. Rey hates wiring fixes. He can take care of this for her. 

He stands, eager to return the blade to Rey and his heart wrenches in panic when he can’t sense her. Across the room, he sees her, leaning in a corner. She’s looking down, tucking her torn shirt into her pants; Rose is there, holding her tunic. Jannah stands guard, gripping a massive rifle, her scowl dissuading anyone from letting their eyes linger too long in their direction. Rey’s mental guards are all the way up. 

Ben wants to head over to her anyway, if only to be near her, but he’s blocked by Finn running up to him. 

“Hey, whoa there.” Finn raises his hands to get Ben’s attention away from Rey.

Shaking his head, he holds up the saberstaff. “I need to—” 

“It can wait, buddy, you’re—” he gestures at Ben’s body, his face twitching a little as Ben looks down and realizes he’s naked, stomach covered in dry spunk. 

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, dashing over to the table and pulling on his pants. By the time he’s made himself halfway decent, Rey is long gone, and it’s a cold knife to the gut when he realizes she’ll probably never want to be in the same room with him, ever, ever again. 

Ben is still looking for his belt when Poe tells him Rey caught a transport back to base. The next one’s leaving in ten minutes. He takes it. The sooner he can repair Rey’s saber and return it to her, the sooner he can let her know how sorry he is and then figure out how he’s going to survive the rest of his life without her friendship. He doesn’t know if he wants the transport to speed up or slow down. He wants to get back to Rey, but is in no hurry to experience her excising him from her life. The thought that Rey hates him for what he did to her rises in his gut like bile and he forces himself to stay upright, to take deep steady breaths. 

*-*-*

Rey doesn’t live on base anymore. A couple of months ago she moved into a small cottage down by the lake. Ben visited once, soon after she moved in. The place was in need of cleaning and repair but Rey seemed excited. She’d dragged all her scavenging projects into the front room and slung a hammock in the far corner. 

She invited him to stay, to visit anytime, but he steered clear. He told himself she deserved space. He was almost always in her head, the least he could do was not be constantly in her line of sight.

In that painful moment—when he’d declined her invitation—she looked at him with something like confused and anxious longing—but that was wishful thinking on his part. His ridiculous heart projecting his impossible desires onto her good-natured and friendly offer.

She still extends an invitation, every now and then.

*-*-*

The wiring in Rey’s saberstaff is easily repaired when he gets back to base. It’s late in the afternoon, the sun filtering through the trees as he makes his way towards Rey’s home. At times he has to stop, to remember to breathe, to drag one foot in front of the other. He’s walking towards his doom.

He sees her place, through a clearing. The outside of the cottage is tidy and in good repair. There are flowers in the yard and she’s installed planter boxes in the windows. He smiles a little, at the sight of it. The garden is so very _Rey._ Full of life and cheer, with scant attention paid to traditional aesthetics. Truly original. 

He knocks on the door.

After a long minute, she answers. Her eyes are red and puffy and Ben is concerned but also distracted because she is wearing a dress. The skirt is long and forest green while the bodice is green like an apple, with long sleeves and a high neck. There’s a crocheted shawl around her shoulders that flows down to her hips.

He stares. She looks… so _womanly._ His pretty little scavenger in her dirty boots has been replaced by this _vision._ She radiates warmth and domesticity; her hair is down, curling around her shoulders and her beauty resonates in a whole new way. He’s speechless. 

One of her hands flutters up to her chest and rests over her heart. She gulps. 

“Please come in.” She shoves the door all the way open and, when he doesn’t move, she grabs his hand and pulls him inside.

The room inside is different than he remembers. The front room has a sofa and soft looking chairs covered in blue and green fabrics. In the corner, looking out over the garden, is a good sized desk and a bookcase. They're both empty. Everything is clean and fresh smelling. 

“Well, what do you think?” 

He looks at her blankly, words refusing to come. “It’s nice. You look nice. The house is—”

“Nice?” she finishes, a small smile on her pink lips. “You like my dress?” When he can’t respond, she explains. “It’s a house dress like they wear on Naboo.” 

“Naboo?” What is _wrong_ with him?

She shakes her head. “Let me show you the rest of the house,” she says and points out the kitchen and the refresher and a small eating nook.

Her piles of scrap and junk are now in a back room with a retractable wall that opens up onto the backyard, giving her room to work. He inspects some of her projects with a small smile and is reminded that he’s there only to deliver her saber. Which reminds him of why he has it in the first place. He clenches a fist. She should hate him, but she’s not acting like she hates him. This was all so unexpected and he doesn’t know what to do. He thought she’d ask why he was there, he’d hand over the lightsaber, and she’d shut the door in his face. He wasn’t prepared for a smile and a _tour._ He’s frozen in place and she grabs his hand again.

“Last one.” Her voice sounds high and tremulous and she leads him into the bedroom. 

He cannot help but notice that her bed is large. So large; so much bed for one small person. There’s _two_ short tables though, one on each side of the dark wood headboard. A gentle fragrance catches his attention; the far table holds a little bouquet of flowers and a comm unit. The near table is empty. He feels adrift, confused. 

He is getting a glimpse into Rey’s life on the day she will banish him, and it’s torture. Rey, in her green housedress, with her flowers and—she’s _here_ and _alive,_ so decent and lovely. And he is here, too; so miserable, and so selfish for thinking he deserves anything other than misery. The strain of keeping his mental shields up is unbearable. Something’s got to give. 

“Why did you _leave?”_

The question bursts out of him almost desperately. It’s pathetic, how much he needs her. Being close to her is the only thing keeping him sane. But she’d rightly left him alone, back on Takodana. He needs to learn to live with this searing sense of loss. He doesn’t expect her to answer, but she does.

“I was… angry.” Her voice is iron. “You didn’t let me keep your back during the firefight… you walked into the middle of the room, a huge target with no one to protect you.” She swallows. 

He nods, stares down at the floor, focuses intently on the corner of a purple rug sticking out from underneath her bed. 

“And I was mad at myself,” she continues. “After… what happened, I was afraid. That you’d be disgusted by me, if the bond was open and you knew—”

His eyes fly to hers. “Rey—”

“—You knew how much I wanted it.” Her face crumples in a sob. “If we were going to die, I wanted to know what it was like—” She takes a heaving breath, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve wanted to know, for so long, what it was like. To—to be with you. So even if it had to be like that. In front of all those horrible people. Even though I know you don’t want me that way, I still wanted it.” Her voice cracks and breaks. “I’m so sorry. I had hoped there could be a future for us—” She looks down at the large, empty bed with another sob. “I thought, maybe in time—but now I’ve ruined any chance—”

 _“Rey.”_ He lets his mental walls fall. Exposes his mind; she can see everything. His compassion and guilt. His despair and hope. And that he loves her—oh, how he loves her—and that he always will.

He falls to his knees, wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face into her belly. The scratchy yarn of her shawl absorbs his tears and her tear-damp hands stroke his hair. They stay like that for a long time, him snuggling under her soft breasts, his arms resting on her hips and thighs. Her rough little fingertips play gently with his ears and, eventually, he smiles into her stomach. 

She kisses him again. One day he’ll instigate a kiss, but not today. They stand together in her bedroom, in the silence of the sunny afternoon, and slowly undress each other. His shirt falls to the floor. She drops her dress right on top of it and he promises he’s not going anywhere. 

Rey is everything he’d wanted and still more than he’d ever dreamed. Her nipples are firm and dusty pink; she brings his hand up to cover them. She shivers uncontrollably when his fingers tangle in the hair at the back of her neck.

She leads him to the bed and he kisses her everywhere. Gentle licks and sucks on her breasts have her babbling endearments that make him brave. He thrills to again feel the soft, pulsing warmth of her cunt as he strokes her to a wild, ferocious climax with his fingers and tongue. Blinking back tears, he thanks her as she pulls him close, slotting his cock to the very core of her and inviting him in. He can feel through the bond how much she loves him; when he breaches her body there’s a slight trembling as the pinch and the stretch ripples through her. Before long, she’s encouraging him with her hips and her hands to delve deep, begging him to turn her inside out. Her bone deep joy radiates warmth he can feel in every cell of his body.

He pumps methodically; not so slow as to be torturous, not so fast as to be without feeling. Each roll and snap of his hips is a perfect moment in time. He startles when she says she wants him, _for always,_ but he would not deny her anything in his power to give. She moans into his mouth, promising him forever, and he reciprocates love through the bond. Her breasts bounce beneath him and he caresses the skin over her heart, vowing to cherish it. He shudders above her when she reverentially kisses his hands and invites him to stay, to make this _their_ bed, _their_ home. Precious, sacred knowledge awakens. He’s been rescued from all that came before; the second he gives himself to her, she gives herself right back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the amazing [@nixcomix](https://www.twitter.com/nixcomix) for the encouraging, thorough, and necessary beta! Thank you so much! Check out her fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nixcomix/pseuds/nixcomix/works)!
> 
> Come say [hi on twitter](https://www.twitter.com/spoonfulofsalad) and please [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_big_deal) to subscribe for notification of future fics!


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